


How Come I'm Not Blue?

by MaidenofIron157



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (like there's some but its not graphic-graphic), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Parent Yondu Udonta, Protective Yondu Udonta, one that's NOT yondu's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenofIron157/pseuds/MaidenofIron157
Summary: saw a post on tumblr YEARS ago that basically boiled down to:What would've happened if Yondu'd said “yes” when Peter asked if he was his dad?and, well. this isoneway that could've gone down
Relationships: Peter Quill & Yondu Udonta
Comments: 7
Kudos: 268





	How Come I'm Not Blue?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been tweaking this since guardians 2 came out, give me a BREAK

By the time seven whole sol cycles had come and gone, Peter Jason Quill had spoken to approximately one (make that _one_ ) person aboard the _Eclector_. This person happened to be, wouldn’tcha’know? None other than himself. _What_ a _coincidence_.

He guesses he asked for it, what with how well they were _introduced_. Quill’d come kicking and screaming onto the ship, gave a few crew members a nasty bruise or three, and shut right up when he’d whistled to get everyone’s attention. The whistling wasn’t what had shut him up – it was the fact that everyone _else_ had, and had immediately moved out of the way to let him through to see just what the big fucking problem was.

He’d supposed Quill could understand when someone was in charge, because, for all his balled fists and red face, he’d never tried to a throw a punch at him.

Smart boy.

He’d been the one to get him hooked up to a translator, was the thing. Pulled it out of his pocket, crouched down, had to grab the boy’s chin so he’d stop squirming and _stay still_ , and stuck it behind his ear. When Quill’d flinched at the way it’d punctured his skin, he’d just roughly patted his arm and said, “Workin’ alright?”

Not the warmest welcome, but then, it wasn’t like he’d been trying to be _warm_. He’d known from the start that they were keepin’ the kid, had told the rest of the crew as much – “Look, we’ve already got the coordinates, let’s just pick ‘im up and keep ‘im for ourselves,” and they knew enough about what’d happened with Ego that they hadn’t argued all that much, just complained about having another mouth to feed and a brat under their feet, and as far as Yondu was concerned that’d been more than enough permission – but it wasn’t like he was gonna go out of his way to pamper their new recruit. He was a child, sure, but that didn’t equal special treatment, not on _his_ ship.

(Quill’s red-rimmed eyes had lit up anyway, so. Y’know.)

And so because Yondu had gotten the crew off his back, and had been the one to implant his translator, _and_ had been the first voice he’d heard in his new home (the first he could _understand_ ), Quill’d latched onto him like a stars-damned Pluvian leech.

Terrans and their _sentiment_.

He guessed he couldn’t blame him, though; new place, new people. He _was_ just a kid. Clinging to the _arguably_ safest adult was probably pretty logical, in his tiny little brain. After all, Yondu _did_ have all the power, and Quill definitely knew it.

So he only spoke to him.

Which was irritating, but manageable, for now. It’d only been a few days, after all, and it was better than him deciding he was gonna be mute for the rest of his life, and Yondu’d told him he’d need to get over himself if he ever wanted to actually be a part of the crew in the future, something he evidently very much _did_ want, if what he’d prattled on to him after _that_ talk was any indication. So, he was working up the ranks. First he had to not be terrified to be in the canteen for more than five minutes. It was a process.

It also meant that Quill came to him with all of his questions. “Where’s the bathroom?” was one. “Well, if this is a real spaceship, then where are the torpedoes and lasers and stuff?” was another. “You’re not really gonna eat me, are you?” was _hysterical_ , even if he’d felt just a _little_ bad for laughing afterwards, since Quill was _genuinely scared_ that they were just trying to fatten him up. (Apparently that was a thing with a capital “T” on Terra, making entertainment about other-worlders abducting their children to use as food. How utterly fucking bizarre. I mean _honestly_.)

It’d been a week, and now, they were on the bridge. Quill’d taken a liking to tagging along with him anywhere there wasn’t a lot of people, and, as long as he didn’t get in the way, Yondu couldn’t find it in himself to stop him. So far, the bridge was the closest they’d gotten to ‘more than five crew members at once’, but it was just them and Kraglin in there today, due to the rest of his men all being cooped up in the canteen playing their bi-weekly A’askavarian poker game. “Hey, Yondu?”

He answered with a grunt, since he was looking over one of the jobs Kraglin’d forwarded to him and, frankly, it probably required his attention a helluva a lot more than whatever Quill’s question was gonna be. There were also enough zeroes attached to make any residual regret he felt over not taking Ego’s last job finally, blissfully disappear. (A life was worth so much more than even _that_ many credits, but damn if it didn’t feel good to admit that they were better off without them in the long run.)

“Are you my dad?”

…Well.

Uh.

He could admit that he glanced up from the tablet in surprise, and was tempted to slam Kraglin’s head onto the dash when he saw his shoulders shake, the bastard, but instead settled for raising a suspicious eyebrow at the kid and slowly saying, “…Why’re you askin’?”

He saw Quill duck his head out of the corner of his eye, and rub the back of his neck. (He’s figured out that Terrans do that when they’re anxious. And Quill was very, very anxious.) “’S just… Mom always said that Dad came from the stars, and you picked me up right after she…” He didn’t finish that statement, just kept starin’ at his feet. “And you’re the one in charge a’ the ship, so you’re the one able to tell everyone where to go, and why else would you come all the way out here just to pick up one kid?” He was gaining steam, now– “And–and you’re the only one who hasn’t looked at me funny, or said mean things about me, or pushed me or tried to trip me in the halls, and–”

Yondu raised a hand to get him to stop babbling, and Quill shut his mouth with a clack. He looked very small, now, all hunched over like that. Made how young he was all the more noticeable. He could see Kraglin out of the corner of his eye, pretending like he wasn’t listening. The company, the fact that it wasn’t just the two of them, made him want to laugh it off, or ignore it, tell Quill a thousand variations on just why that was very, _very_ far from the case.

But.

But, but, but.

“…Sure, kid,” was what he settled on, acting like he didn’t see Kraglin turn his head towards them in shock.

Quill’s big ole eyes blinked a little, before narrowing. “’Sure’? Whaddaya mean, ‘ _sure_ ’?” He sounded suspicious. Probably because it sounded like Yondu was just placating him, and not telling the truth. Had every right to be, he knew.

He took in a deep breath, let it out heavily, then ruffled the kid’s hair with an equally heavy hand, making him scrunch his face up and shove it away. “It’s a long story, boy.” Hell if he didn’t know the half of it. “Complicated. I’ll tell y’when you’re older.”

Quill pursed his lips, not completed satisfied, but not willing to fight anymore, either, which was what Yondu’d been aiming for. “But if you’re my dad, then how come I’m not blue?”

He heard Kraglin let out a choked sound that he knew was a laugh, and made a note to smack him upside the head as soon as the kid was out of sight. Instead, he told Quill, “Got it from your momma. Y’look a lot like her.” He made sure to leave out the ‘don’t you?’ he originally would’ve put on the end of that sentence, to make it seem like he actually knew what Meredith Quill looked like. He knew the bare basics – pink skin, yellow hair, and, from what he could remember from the data Ego’d sent along, odd little orange and brown skin dots and green eyes that her boy had _definitely_ inherited.

Quill looked like he believed that, which was a blessing. What followed were the words, “How come you never came back, then?”, which were much _less_ of a blessing. “She said you would. She _always_ said you would.”

Yondu covered up a wince at the way Quill’s voice cracked on the last word. He couldn’t rightfully fault the kid for still being emotional about a mother he was clearly close to and had lost so recently, but it was still a situation very far from what he’d call a comfort zone. If he knew this was the way the conversation was gonna go when he said ‘yes’, he may very well have just told Quill to fuck off.

Good thing he was an expert at thinking on his feet. “Work. ‘S dangerous. Too dangerous to bring to Terra, too dangerous to bring her along – _especially_ with a little one.” With Quill lookin’ ready to open his mouth again, he quickly added, “Besides, d’you really think someone lookin’ like _me_ would fit in in on a planet like _that_?”

Quill chewed at his lip a little before answering; “I guess not…”

“No,” Yondu said, plain and simple. “I wouldn’t. Now sit an’ listen to your music.”

“But–”

“Ah ah!” Yondu raised exactly one finger. “No more questions. You got all the answers you need. Now sit, or you’re walkin’ back to your room by yourself.”

Quill made a face, at that, but didn’t argue any further, just plopped down beside the chair and dug his music box out of his bag. Yondu rolled his eyes, returning to the tablet he still had in his hands. Now that that was out of the way… _Location: Hervek, Sayud City, Pop. 700,000. Description: Retrieve a stolen chest filled with priceless family heirlooms and treasures for the royal family of Hervek, Poyok City, Pop. 1.2 million–_

“Can you at least call me Peter?”

“What?” Interrupted again, stars. He cast a half-irritated glance at Quill, who was looking back at him, equally as irritated.

“If you’re my dad, can you at _least_ call me Peter?”

From the way the kid’s jaw was clenched, it didn’t look like he’d be takin’ no for an answer – or at least, not without an argument, and Yondu was not in the mood for that right now. He’d just had to weave his way through a boldfaced lie for the last seven minutes, to a _child_ , give him a break. “Sure, kid; now put your ear-cushions on.”

“They’re called _headphones_ ,” he heard Quill mutter, before he finally sunk down and turned his music on. He could hear it through the cushions – headphones, _whatever_ – the same way he could every time the kid listened to it, and rolled his eyes before _finally_ turning back to the job. (But not without reeling back and punching Kraglin in the arm, smirking at the indignant grunt he got for his trouble. Served him right for laughing like that. Bastard.)

\--

It came back to bite him less than eight days later.

Quill – _Peter_ – had taken to calling him ‘Captain’ and ‘Dad’ interchangeably. It wasn’t that big of a deal, seeing as he still steadfastly refused to speak to anyone else, and whispered whenever they were around other people. Kraglin was starting to become the sole exception, since he was the one he saw the most aside from Yondu. As a result, no one had heard the kid call him ‘Dad’ _except_ for Kraglin, who’d been there for the initial conversation, so instead of finding it shocking enough to trip over his boots he found it _fucking hysterical_.

Like he said: _bastard_.

That changed after the Hervek job. It went off without a hitch, as much as a job involving stealing back a chest of treasures from a rival royal family for the original _could_ be, and they’d been paid very, _very_ handsomely for their efforts. So handsomely, in fact, that Yondu’d decided they were going to celebrate at the nearest pleasure planet. No one argued, of course; they were high on success, and hadn’t had a good night out in a while, so as soon as they were all back on the ship they were hightailing it to Intiri.

Peter, who wasn’t allowed to join in on the job, similarly wasn’t allowed to come with them for the ‘after party’, for obvious reasons. He’d looked vaguely annoyed about being left behind, _again_ , but when he’d learned that it wasn’t going to be the most reputable planet, he hadn’t put up that much of a fight. Yondu’d just rolled his eyes at him and told him to guard the place before they all left.

He hadn’t expected him to actually _need to_.

They’d been in some random bar, having a fine time, with half the crew drunk off their asses and the other half only slightly less so, when his communicator’d gone off. Now, he wasn’t nearly as drunk as the rest of the crew, partially because he wanted to be semi-coherent when they got back to the ship, partially because he got most of his entertainment watching everyone else get shit-faced. This meant that he had enough of his brain cells still in working order to realize that his communicator going off meant something was _very wrong_.

Because _Peter was the only one on the ship_.

“Kid? What’s wrong, what’s going on–?”

“There’s people on the ship!” he heard Peter hiss back, and Yondu was man enough to admit that something in him tightened at his tone. “I thought it was everyone coming back at first – I was getting some food, I heard the cargo door open, so I went and hid and I could hear them pass by and I didn’t recognize any of the voices an’ they were talking about raiding the ship and stealing it–”

“Okay, a’right, deep breaths, kid, you’ll pass out if you don’t calm down,” Yondu told him, despite being anything but calm himself. His worry over Peter was mixing with his anger over whoever _dared_ to think they could just waltz onto his ship like they owned it, and was making a dangerous cocktail that sobered him _right_ the fuck up, despite him not being very drunk in the first place. “Where are you now?”

“By the engines,” Peter said. His voice was wobbly. “I’m hiding between some big pipes. I think they’re looking for me, I heard one of them say they smelt someone before I called you–”

“Stay. _There_ ,” Yondu ordered, getting to his feet. “We’ll be there in five minutes. If you think they’re getting close, I want you to find a new hiding place, okay?”

“O-okay…”

“Good boy,” he said, then hung up and faced the rest of the bar, full of his men, singing loudly off-key and laughing uproariously and starting fist-fights.

And raised two fingers to his teeth, and whistled as loud as he could.

It was times like these that he appreciated the fact that his men had become conditioned to associate whistling with danger, because every single one of them immediately stopped whatever they’d been doing to give him their full attention. Even the patrons of the bar who weren’t a part of the crew and just happened to be there for a good time were startled into silence at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Just got a call from the kid,” he announced. “ _Apparently_ , some smug group of raiders got it in their heads that our ship was easy pickin’s, and broke in.” Seeing the way the crew seemed to move as one with outrage, he grinned, harsh and broad. “What say we pay them a visit, boys?”

 _That_ got them moving.

They reached the ship in three and a half minutes, what with the entire crew infuriated enough to go faster than they typically would. He was at the front, and level-headed enough to notice the sentry standing outside the closed cargo hold that had one hand holding a communicator to their ear and the other reaching for the blaster on their belt. No doubt they’d called their _friends_ as soon as they heard them approaching (since they weren’t exactly being subtle), and Yondu had a moment to wonder just what their contingency plan was before he whipped his arrow out of its holster and had it at the bastard’s throat. It wouldn’t do to have them start shooting at them, now, would it?

“Junner, Bek, stay here and guard the guard,” he ordered, feeling the two in question pass him to take their posts with pleasure before the rest of them crowded around the cargo hold.

Once it dropped open, all hell broke loose.

Oh, there wasn’t anyone _waiting_ for them. It was just that the crew sort of went wild barging onto the ship. They were out for blood, still fairly drunk, and working as a cohesive, violent unit as they swarmed inside. Yondu had no problem letting them do so; after all, they were his crew, and he knew that if they broke anything that wasn’t the raiders’ bones he’d just punish them for it later.

 _His_ priority was finding the kid.

The engine bay was fairly close by, so he wasted no time getting there – _especially_ when he started hearing sounds of a struggle. There was nothing that valuable down by the engines except maybe a few pieces of machinery here and there, but if they’d planned on stealing the ship, they’d _need_ that machinery, so there was only one thing the raiders could _possibly_ be there for.

He rounded the corner, only to find Peter across the room, in the arms of someone trying their damnedest to keep him still. The kid was putting up a helluva fight, scratching and kicking and biting, and yelled out, “Dad!” when he caught sight of him. That, in turn, made the one grappling him look up, and apparently realize they were in _deep shit_ , because they immediately took off, hauling Peter with them. His arrow wasn’t able to reach them before the thick metal door got in the way, and, unwilling to risk going through it where he couldn’t see and accidentally hitting Peter, whirled around to punch the wall hard enough to dent the metal with a loud curse. The pain that blossomed from his fist was minuscule compared to the rage building in his gut, and he stormed out of the room the way he came in.

He knew this ship better than anyone.

He knew _exactly_ where that hallway led.

On his way to intercept them, he met up with some of the crew who were looking for fresh meat, and didn’t stop them from tagging along, just pointed them to go around to keep the raider from trying to run off in the opposite direction. They wound up cornering them in a hallway; the raider, having met up with one of their _friends_ , was trapped by the crew on either side, and had acted quickly enough to shove a blaster against Peter’s temple to use as leverage. The poor kid was shaking like a leaf, and his face was wet from tears. The fact that the other had his hair in a vice grip to keep him still wasn’t helping.

“Dad…” he heard Peter whimper, and he snarled at the way the boy was roughly shaken for speaking, arrow circling dangerously over his head.

“You let us off and the Terran lives!” the one holding the blaster bargained, acting as if they weren’t horribly outnumbered and at an equally horrible disadvantage.

“We let you off and you’ll _take_ the Terran!” he heard Halfnut shout back, starting up a round of angry agreement from the rest of the gathered crew. They all knew better than to believe a word out of their mouths; even ignoring the fact that they’d just tried to steal their ship, Terrans were a valuable commodity, and there was simply no way the raiders would give that up, for their lives or otherwise.

“You’re in no position t’be makin’ demands,” Yondu said, curling his lip. He was trying to find an opening where he could ram the arrow into the raider’s skull without risking them pulling the trigger, but for all their trembling he hadn’t gotten lucky yet.

“We’re in every position!” the one holding Peter’s hair shouted, clearly verging on hysterical. Yondu had a feeling this evening wasn’t exactly proceeding how they’d planned. There was another, “Dad–” from Peter before he was viciously shaken once again and told to “ _Shut the hell up_!”, followed by the other one yelling, “If you don’t let us go we’ll – _fuck_!”

And that was _Peter_ , stomping on the speaking one’s foot as hard as he could and ramming his elbow into the other’s unmentionables. That was all it took; the sudden pain made the one holding the blaster shift its trajectory _just enough_ that Yondu was able to drive the arrow through their eye socket before they knew what was happening – and it was a good thing he’d waited, because the blaster fired a hole into the wall once the arrow’d followed through, meaning if he’d taken the chance of killing them when Peter’d still been in its path the kid’d be dead where he stood. The rest of the gathered crew surged forward when they saw the red of the arrow, grappling the other raider and dealing out what could only be described as a _brutal_ beating to them right then and there.

But Yondu only had eyes for one thing.

Ullyp, one of the _smarter_ crew members, had managed to dive in and snatch Peter up off the ground before everyone else had converged on the remaining raider, raising him up above the crowd so he wouldn’t be caught in the mess and possibly become a casualty. Small as he was, there was a _very real chance_ he might’ve been trampled in the rest of the crew’s thirst for blood. Yondu caught his arrow as it sailed back to him, shoving it back in its holster and elbowing through the horde to meet him halfway.

Peter was openly crying again when he took him from Ullyp, but he wasn’t making a giant fuss about it. Yondu figured it was from the stress, and the fright, the adrenaline, and sighed under his breath, tucking his coat around him to block out the noise and letting him cling all he liked. He deserved it, after this; less than a month off Terra, and already he’d simultaneously almost been kidnapped _and_ stopped their ship from getting hijacked.

He weaved his way back out of the mob after sparing a parting glance to the other raider, who had stopped screaming bloody murder after getting punched square in the throat and was now taking his beating like a gaping fish. Yondu had no doubt that he’d be a mangled corpse sooner rather than later, and left his men to it.

After all, he had a ringleader to track down.

Peter stayed in his arms the whole walk, slowly calming down, his breaths coming less rapidly, sinking more heavily into his grip. That was the exhaustion talking, he had no doubt, and while he wouldn’t exactly _mind_ killing someone with a sleeping child in his arms, he didn’t wanna risk waking him up while he did so, so he hastened his pace.

As it was, the crew members who _hadn’t_ been with them in the hallway had managed to track down the brains of the operation themselves, and had tied them up all nice and pretty for him in the canteen after killing the rest of their companions. Ah, he’d taught them well.

They’d been in the process of giddily threatening the individual in question (and looking thrilled at all the expressions they made and the colors they turned) when he’d entered the room. His men had made a sort of circle around them, jeering and taunting and being general nuisances, but had made a clear path the second Kraglin caught sight of him and yelled, “Cap’n’s here!”

Now, it took a certain kind of person to still look intimidating while carrying a half-asleep child, and Yondu knew he’d managed it when he saw the ringleader freeze up and turn white with dread.

The circle closed shut when he stopped in front of their prisoner, this time with Kraglin on the inside, and the room, compared to the earlier racket, was jarringly silent. It heightened the ringleader’s fear, he knew, and felt a sense of perverse pleasure about it.

“Kraglin,” he said plainly, keeping his eyes on the individual in front of him while his first stepped closer to await instructions. He readjusted Peter in his arms. “Take the kid back to his room; this disgusting excuse for a raider tried to _abduct_ him today.”

All at once, the crew started yelling; “What?!”, “Our Terran?”, “They tried to take our Terran!”, “Skin ‘em!”, “Burn ‘em!”, “Lemme at ‘em, Cap’n, lemme at ‘em!” It was music to his ears, and the way the ringleader tried to make themselves smaller when they realized just what they’d tried to do wasn’t that bad either.

He handed Peter over to Kraglin, who settled the boy’s head on his shoulder and had to mutter, “’S just me, Pete,” to keep him from squirming away. “If you’re back in five minutes, I just might let you have a go,” Yondu told him with a smirk, baring his teeth at the way Kraglin’s eyes glinted at the prospect.

Once he’d been let out of the circle to drop Peter back off in his quarters, he cracked his knuckles, one by one, delighting in the way the ringleader flinched at every. Single. One of them. “Now,” he drawled, rubbing his hands together. “What’m I gonna do with _you_?”

\--

The next morning was where the ‘bite me in the ass’ portion came into play. Y’see, Yondu tended to not remember _details_ very well when he was angry – not the regular, run-of-the-mill anger he had running at all times, but the kind that made him black out with rage, the kind that settled heavy and cold in his bones and erupted hot and burning under his skin. The bigger picture was what mattered to him in the long run, and, yes, it’d caused him some trouble in the past and would likely continue to do so in the future, but he didn’t get angry like that often enough for it to be a _real_ problem.

However, case in point: right now. It was five o’clock standard, maybe? And the raid had happened around eleven or so the night before. The crew’d spent the rest of that time cleaning up and making sure there wasn’t another raider hiding around the ship, and they’d all probably slept for a maximum of three hours each and were, resultingly, what could only be described as _cranky_. Hangovers, from the alcohol and the adrenaline both, dried blood in places you didn’t want it to be, bruised knuckles and missing teeth, the whole deal. It meant they were all at each other’s throats, starting shit, but not enough shit to cause a fist fight, if only because it wouldn’t give them as much satisfaction as it normally would’ve.

And, of course, by ‘starting shit’, he meant _gossiping_.

Yondu usually wasn’t involved in this when it happened, since he was the captain and his personal life was _literally none of their fucking business_ , but he could admit that as long as it didn’t start a mutiny, he usually let them be. They’d talk whether he threatened to shove ‘em out the airlock or not, so he just let it happen. He just preferred not to hear ‘em, was all.

This time, he heard ‘em.

He’d wanted to check on Peter for all of about five seconds before figuring the kid’d be out like a light for the next few hours, and headed to the canteen instead (seeing as he hadn’t eaten since the day before). Except, he’d come in to find Bors, whispering to what could only be the entire crew, who’d been listening with rapt attention before he’d _interrupted_ and Bors stopped dead. If the whispering itself wasn’t suspicious, _that_ sure as hell was.

He narrowed his eyes. “And just _what_ is going on _here_?”

They all started talking at once, as they were prone to do. He heard a lot of “Nothing!”s and “Just talkin’, Captain!”s, which were all complete bullshit, so he sighed and whistled to get them all to shut up, which they all, blissfully, did. “Gweo,” he called, making the man in question jump. “You mind tellin’ me what this is all about?”

Gweo, whose species valued following your superiors above all else, looked torn for all of about two seconds before someone else – Junner – took the reins; “We was just – uh, that is, Bors was tellin’ us, sir, about uh, the-the kid–“

“What _about_ the kid?” he snapped, making Junner flounder and Horuz have to pick up the slack.

“Bors was sayin’ he called you his daddy last night was all, sir.”

 _Did he?_ Yondu wanted to ask, genuinely curious, since, like he’d said, details tended to escape him when he was pissed and he had definitely been pissed last night. For all he knew, Peter very well could’ve called him that. It wasn’t like _he_ remembered. Instead, what came out was, “…And?”

That made the crew pause, and all look at each other before Kleese cleared his throat and asked, “Well, uh… We was just wondering why, sir. Was all, sir.”

“…Because I told ‘im I was his daddy was why.” At the crew’s shocked looks and confused murmurings, he rolled his eyes. “What, you want me t’tell ‘im his real dad’s a _child murderer_? Is that it? You want me to tell this eight year old Terran boy that the man that sired him was probably just using his beloved mother as an incubator for a child he’d want dead in the future? Is that what you want me to do? Or do you want ‘im to keep on assumin’ we just picked ‘im up ‘cause we wanted to _eat him_?”

That made the crew jump to their own defense; “Oh, no, sir!”, “Not at all, sir!”, “We were just curious was all, sir!”, “Thank you for explaining, sir!” Yada, yada, yada. He saw Kraglin quietly laughing into his bowl at the back of the crowd before he went over to the kitchen to fetch something for himself, which had been _what he’d come in to do in the first place_. Bastard.

But of course, now it was a _thing_. Because his crew, as much as they just loved kissing his ass, equally loved being irritating little shits, and they’d just found a new way to do so: joking with each other about it. There was nothing funnier in the galaxy to them than the fact that Peter called him ‘Dad’, almost purely because Yondu was probably one of the worst examples of father material on the entire ship, after maybe Osiru. He was stubborn, smug, violent, he had a temper, he had a shitty childhood and worse parents (well, not that the crew knew that), and, to top it off, they’d seen him around children before. Needless to say, those experiences had not ended _well_.

Yet here he was, taking up the role of a Terran child’s father, and doing it _willingly_. How he’d let Peter ride on his shoulders to seem tall. How he’d let him blast his music through the ship and dance in the halls. How he’d take him out on less serious trips, to flea markets and shops, and let him pick out something no matter what it was so long as it wasn’t too expensive under the guise of pick-pocketing practice. How he’d tell him no, you _can’t_ eat that, dammit, Terrans're allergic, Peter, I don’t _care_ that it’s purple!

It was like a dream come true for them.

Of course, it wasn’t that funny when they started training Peter and bringing him out on jobs. When he’d get hurt. When he’d almost be abducted again. When he’d almost _die_. Those times, the jokes were few and far between, if there were any made at all. Those times, Yondu would shut down to make sure his temper didn’t get the better of him. Those times, Kraglin would have to stop him from going after the kidnappers himself. Those times… no one talked about those times. (How Yondu wouldn’t sleep, how Yondu would pace, how Yondu would bite his nails down to the quick until Kraglin had to bandage them when they started to bleed, how Yondu wouldn’t leave the med-bay unless he had to, and he does mean _had_ to. How Yondu would just ruffle Pete’s hair and say, “Welcome back, kid,” when he woke up for the first time in three days, as if nothing’d been wrong. How they were never letting it get that far again.)

Because they knew, as well as Yondu did, that he’d started viewing the kid as his son as much as _he_ viewed him as his _father_.

And it was dangerous. _Stars_ , it was so dangerous. He’s made a lot of enemies – the crew has made a lot of enemies. A weakness like that? A Terran? A _child_? It was shit like that that made it hard to sleep at night. Knowing that, sooner or later, Peter was going to get kidnapped because of him. Used as leverage, because of him.

Hurt, because of _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> _Ten Years Later_
> 
> _"Hey, kid."_
> 
> _"Yeah?"_
> 
> _"I'm, uh... I'm not-I'm not your dad."_
> 
> _"Oh, I know."_
> 
> _"...You_ what _!?"_
> 
> \--
> 
> yeah so uh, its not... finished? I wanted to add more, hence the little slice of dialogue up there, bc ending it where I did doesn't feel right and I wanted to write the "confrontation" that would happen when yondu inevitably wound up telling pete the truth, but its just been sitting there for years untouched because there's just _nothing_. sigh. if anyone else wants to take a crack at it, be my guest. have fun!


End file.
